


bastila's no good very bad awful week

by 101places



Series: there is only you [8]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Force Bond (Star Wars), Gen, Rated T for Brejik being a creep, Revan's got a tiny cameo, This fic is just hell for Bastila I'm sorry, but it's blink and you'll miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/101places/pseuds/101places
Summary: Bastila Shan's adventures on Taris.( AKA : bastila has the worst luck ever, more news at 10 )
Series: there is only you [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686904
Kudos: 13





	bastila's no good very bad awful week

**Author's Note:**

> i didnt mean for this to end up being so rough on bastila but then it happened anyway. she's a little feral in parts of this but honestly it's deserved
> 
> i see a lot of people complaining about bastila's attitude when you first reach her but honestly i think she's valid. especially when you know the twist. like goddamn she has every right to be a bit of a dick
> 
> i mean admittedly in my gameplay i simply ran away from the vulkars and let her handle it so her taking such offence to me claiming i'd saved her never felt inappropriate to me fdshdsfgh but still!!
> 
> as always, comments/kudos make me feel like the force supports my decisions

Frankly, Bastila’s life had become infinitely more complicated from the moment that she had pulled Revan from the wreckage of their flagship. Between overseeing their healing and talks with the Council, Bastila had become acutely aware that things had changed - but she continued on regardless, not allowing herself to pause for long enough to consider the consequences of her choice on that bridge.

So when Revan’s healing was completed, and the Council were satisfied that they would not pose a danger, Bastila accepted her new mission - to travel on the Endar Spire to assist the Republic Navy on the frontlines, while observing this new version of Revan and attempting to pull necessary information from them.

It was a risky strategy, but risk was necessary in war. If they remained overly cautious, they would soon fall.

However, when danger finally struck, it didn’t come from Revan. Instead, it was the regular perils of war and, as Bastila moved through the Endar Spire, she couldn’t help but wonder if she had focused too much of her energy on observing Revan, and not enough on defending against the more active threat of Malak.

It was too late for regrets, however. Regrets were of no use to the soldiers dying due to her lapse of judgement. She would simply have to do better in the future.

Bastila did not want to leave the Endar Spire. She wanted to stay and fight, to ensure that as many people as possible survived, but a harsh look from one of her companions reminded her that was not an option for her. Bastila’s Battle Meditation made her too valuable.

So she left in an escape pod, staring back out at the Endar Spire as she descended to the surface of Taris.

.

There was no way to control the descent of the escape pod, Bastila realised too late. If there was a control panel, everything happened too quickly for her to be able to locate it. The escape pod was falling too fast, and she feared what the landing would do. The deaths aboard the Endar Spire would all be for nothing if she escaped only to die on Taris.

So she gathered the last of her energy, willing the Force to assist her, and began to slow the pod's descent.

It still wasn’t enough for a painless landing, the amount of effort she was forced to put into it keeping her from effectively bracing herself for the impact. The force of the impact caused her to fall forwards, her head hitting hard against the durasteel floor.

For a moment, she stayed laying there, her eyes tightly shut against the pain. She felt exhausted, physically, mentally and spiritually. The darkness felt awfully inviting and, while she knew it would be only a matter of time until the Sith tracked her pod and came searching for her, her body refused to obey when she screamed at it to move. Before long, she had fallen unconscious.

.

The sound of movement outside woke Bastila suddenly.

She didn’t know how long she had been unconscious for, but she was still exhausted and in pain. The scratching sound outside of the pod became louder, the shape of the door became twisted under the weight of whatever laid outside. Bastila held her breath, silently willing whatever it was to leave.

But since when did Bastila get what she asked for?

The door gave way, revealing a horrific creature. Bald and pale, with skin stretched over its skeleton so tightly that bones could be seen clearly. Bastila was given only a moment of wide-eyed fear, before the creature saw her and lunged forwards.

Bastila held her hand out before her on instinct, making herself work past her own exhaustion to reach out to the Force, willing it to defend her against the monster.

A shockwave came from her hand, throwing the monster out of the pod. It hit a rocky wall and, for one wonderful moment, Bastila thought that it had died. But then it pulled itself back to its feet, dazed but very much alive.

Bastila didn’t have the energy left in her to put up a fight, and she felt real fear creep up her chest as the monster approached again, this time furious that she had dared to harm it.

She was so sure that these would be her last moments but, before the monster could reach the pod once more, the bang of blaster fire echoed through the air, and it fell short.

Once more, Bastila’s relief was short-lived as her saviour walked into her line of sight. He gazed down at her, an awful look on his face, and Bastila didn’t need the Force screaming in her ears to know that she was still in danger.

Now operating on more than primal fear, Bastila was able to reach down to her belt, where her lightsaber was always safely pinned. She doubted she had the strength to fight, but it was possible that the sight of a Jedi alone would be enough to give these scavengers a second thought about whatever it was they were planning to do to her.

But…

Ah.

Of course.

Not often, but sometimes, Bastila wondered if the Force had a sense of humour. As she found her lightsaber missing from her belt, she couldn’t help but have one of those moments.

“Don’t…” Bastila began, but her voice was as weak as her body, and the scavenger strode over to her as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

He knelt to her level and grabbed her, injecting something into her upper arm before Bastila had the chance to fight him off.

Anger and fear swirled together as, once again, Bastila felt the darkness take her.

.

The next time Bastila woke, she felt… strange.

It was as if she was in a dream. She could see. She could feel. She could hear. But she felt out of place, out of control. She could feel her body, distantly, but everything felt… numbed. Some part of her recognised the effects of a neural collar, but she couldn’t bring herself to think much about it, or to even care.

She watched with glazed eyes as the man before her introduced himself as Brejik. He was speaking about… something. Republic commanders, Sith blockades, Swoopbike races. Bastila struggled to follow along.

Then he stepped forwards, and put his hand on her cheek, thumb brushing against her lips.

Something about the contact made something slip into place in Bastila’s mind. With more clarity than she had had since waking, Bastila thought to herself that she would kill Brejik herself.

.

The next day passed in a blur to Bastila. Often, she was dragged around by Brejik as some sort of trophy - little did he know that he was sealing his own fate.

Every time Brejik’s hand brushed against her, every time he looked at her, every time he spoke of her as some non-sentient  _ thing _ , her hatred for him grew, and it was that hatred that gradually allowed herself to wrestle her mind from the neural collar’s dissociating effect. Hatred was cold, and powerful, and  _ grounding _ , and with every action he took against her, Bastila found herself able to control herself a little bit more.

It was during her third day as Brejik’s captive that she had gained enough control of her movements to act. She tested her control subtly when she was sure that no one was paying attention to her, acting only when she was entirely satisfied.

Then, she waited. She waited until she was alone with Brejik. She waited until his back was turned and, then, she struck forwards with a knife that she had stolen from Brejik’s breakfast the previous day.

The look of pure panic on Brejik’s face as he realised what was happening was more satisfying than it had any right to be, but he was able to kick her away. Her senses were dampened by the neural collar, her reflexes dulled, but she was still a Jedi. She would not become some petty  _ gang leader’s _ docile little pet! She was Bastila Shan, Jedi Padawan, last hope of the Republic, and she deserved better than this!

She took only a moment to right herself, before she lunged again, the knife in her hand aiming true at Brejik’s throat.

But, this time, Brejik was ready.

Bastila stopped dead in her tracks, the knife clattering harmlessly to the ground, as Brejik pressed a button that Bastila had not been aware existed on the neural collar’s remote, causing volts of electricity to pour from it.

Bastila fell, unable to stop herself from curling up and screaming as pain seared through her body.

When darkness crept around her again, it was a blessing.

.

After her last stunt, Brejik took her more seriously. On the positive side of things, this meant that she was no longer paraded around like a doll, no longer caressed by hands that had no right to touch her. On the negative, this meant that her neural collar was set to its highest setting, that she was kept in a cell without any space to move. She wasn’t given an inch. There was nothing that she could exploit.

And she was back to being trapped in that horrible, cloudy dissociative state.

She was kept in the dark, receiving company only twice a day when she was delivered meals, for two days. It would have been enough to drive most sentients mad, but Bastila was a Jedi.

As much as she was able, she reflected on her situation, and attempted to find peace. Meditation was nearly impossible in this state, but she tried to reach for the Force anyway. With every failure, she came a step closer to succeeding.

So Bastila waited in the dark, preparing. Next time she struck, Brejik would not be so lucky.

.

After having spent so long in the dark and the silence, the swoop track was painful.

Bright lights, fast movement, loud cheers. The neural collar only made the sensations more overwhelming.

But this was the first time that she had been out of the facility since she had been captured. If she was going to escape, now was the perfect opportunity. She had to focus. She had to gain control of herself, somehow. It just… felt so impossible, surrounded by the overstimulation of the swoop track.

Then, as if brought about by her momentary despair, the world buckled, shifted, and sharpened.

It felt almost as if she was seeing from someone else’s eyes. She couldn’t explain the sensation, but she didn’t have to. Whatever it was, it had given her an opportunity.

This time, Bastila did not strike immediately. She was cautious, taking stock of her surroundings. There were too many Vulkars. Under normal circumstances Bastila knew that she could easily defeat them all, but in her current state, with her guard holding the control that could put her into a world of pain at the simple push of a button… the odds were not in her favour.

So she would wait. There would be an opening. She had faith that the Force would provide.

.

In the end, the Force did provide.

Brejik, cowardly, double-crossing fool that he was, withdrew her from the prize pool. She would not be anyone’s slave - not Brejik’s, nor the winner of this race - but backing out at the last minute had made enemies for Brejik. The winner had rounded on him, a mass of dark hair keeping her from seeing their face, and Bastila’s heart pounded in her chest as she realised that  _ this _ was the distraction she had been waiting for.

Bastila summoned her strength, and quickly, before he was sure of what had happened, she reached between the bars of her cage and pulled her guard towards her, slamming his head against the metal hard. He fell limp, and Bastila plucked the control from his hands, deactivating the neural collar.

With her mind her own once again, Bastila tore the front of the cage away using the Force, and took the guards staff from his still hands.

Finally noticing her actions, Brejik’s eyes widened with a familiar panic and he spluttered out some horrified denial of the situation.

“You underestimate a Jedi’s willpower, Brejik.” Bastila said, her voice cold as she stepped out of the cage fully.

Her memories of the past few days were vague at best, but one thing she remembered with absolute clarity was  _ hatred _ , directed at the snivelling man before her.

This, she thought as she began to dance through Brejik’s thugs, was going to be  _ fun _ .

.

For the second time this week, Bastila thought that the Force had a sense of humour.

The Black Vulkars, including Brejik, lay dead at her feet.

And staring at her with wide green eyes as she pointed her stolen staff at their neck was none other than Darth Revan.


End file.
